Rainy days and dusty books
by X5thAvenueX
Summary: This is not cheating death.


**Rainy days and dusty books**

This is not cheating death.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

* * *

"Grab your gear, dead marine"

Tony glances opposite, stands and takes his gun from his draw. Next to him McGee is picking up his bag.

The two of them follow Gibbs into the elevator and in the background church bells chime.

**---**

Ziva steps onto the tarmac, feels the heat seep through her shoes, sees it in the distance; shimmering in waves.

There are no answers to be found in Tel Aviv, only questions and stifling uncertainty. She isn't looking anyway.

"Ziva! How are you?"

Eli David is striding towards her, arms outstretched, and she leans into him, lets him lead her to the waiting car, engages in thirty seconds of polite conversation.

As they climb into the back, he hands her an envelope, and she suddenly wants to laugh. Inside is a mission, but right now - the heat blowing in through the open door, the taste of sand in the air, the smell of her fathers cologne - it feels more like an invitation to death row.

She wants to laugh but instead opens the envelope and waits for the powder to hit her in the face.

"I trust you will do this for me, Ziva?"

The corners of her lips twitch upwards and she shuts the car door.

**---**

Steady with adrenalin, blood on salt on skin. Tony is crouched behind the Sedan; on his knees before that ink stained glass.

Across the parking lot, Ziva catches his eye, motions towards the hail of bullets.

_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned._

Metallic bangs become white noise as they spring up at the same time, closed eyes and leaded fingers.

On her knees, before that blood stained glass. He's praying, begging, she's tempting fate.

**---**

Burning rubber down the beltway, he's reminded of shackles and Jeffrey's stammering voice.

This is not a film.

_I'll never stick to you_ she says, laughing eyes, crying lips. _You'll never stick to me_

She clutches her candy a little too tight. His makes him sick.

_Nothing sticks to you_ she repeats in his head, fading out momentarily to be replaced with only panting breaths and sheets so hot he's sure the bed's on fucking fire. Then her voice again, to match the dying embers. _Nothing sticks to you._

And all the time he's staring at that screen, at that one horizontal, never ending line.

**---**

Tony is removing the bullet from his vest. Ziva is cleaning her gun.

"Close, today" he remarks, tossing it into the trash.

_Close every day, he doesn't say, and our graves will read; they had it coming._

Ziva regards him with silent lips and raised eyebrows, the polished metal glaring at him in the dim light.

_It's the small things; the twitch of his lips, the ringing of a phone. When everything is said and done, it's this she will remember. _

A heavy pause, and then she slides the clip back into place.

_That night she dreams of a warehouse so big she can't find herself, and when the guns finally go off, the noise deafens her._

---

Tony dreams of shots that go off like fireworks, of bodies that fall like cards. He dreams of speeches chanted to the rhythm of jazz music, and tears forming rivers that run between pews.

In his dreams Ziva is kneeling on the floor, back arched like a cat, eyes gleaming like the devil. Against a backdrop of fire, she screams into the sky.

_**---**_

She finds him in the break room; stealing candy and maybe hearts.

He turns, spots her, motions to the sling around her right arm. "It hurt?"

_How can he be so serene when she keeps waking up shaking?_

She shrugs, lopsided. "Not really"

_She remembers entering the room; the bodies and the death, the guns and the blood. Remembers lying on the floor, turning to see him next to her._

He smirks; pale face, pale eyes, pale words. "Liar"

_And then afterwards sitting in the back of an ambulance; silent, bloody, and alone. Grey sky, black sky, she waited for it to fall and around her sirens wailed._

When he says nothing more, she turns and leaves. She leaves the empty break room and his empty body and her empty head.

_And something wasn't right because the rain was red and tasted of Tony._

**_---_**

Ziva's silhouette is tall in the window; a silent stand off between her and the storm raging outside.

At his desk, Tony is pulling on his coat.

"See you tomorrow, Ziva" the same gentle yet slightly mocking tone in which a doctor warns "You may feel some slight discomfort" right before he jams the razor sharp needle into your skin.

She turns away from the window.

He's already gone, his desk left in darkness, and behind her the lightening bounces off trees.

**---**

Tony steps onto the tarmac, already missing the heat; pulls his coat a little tighter, a little closer, tells himself it's good to be home.

He doesn't remember when this happened; when leaving became running and words became weapons. He doesn't remember when it happened, but he remembers that she started it.

He drags his suitcase towards his car, the sky above him grey and cloudy.

He misses the heat, the music, the girls. He misses the bar and the beach and he didn't miss her.

_He didn't miss her and he didn't miss this._

His hand moves to the gun at his hip as the rain begins to fall.

**---**

Ziva counts the days in shell casings, a tally of metal marks inside her head.

Tony measures life by the creases in his sheets, and is counting down, though he's not sure what to.


End file.
